


Clementia

by peppermintquartz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, M/M, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal prepares to tear down his life for Will Graham.<br/>Will Graham prepares, though he doesn't know to what end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clementia

Hannibal caught the faint scent and, for a heartbeat, hoped he was mistaken. When Will walked past him again, he inhaled deeply.

It was no mistake.

Freddie Lounds was not dead.

The quiet revelation stabbed like an icicle straight into his heart. His gaze narrowed slightly as he watched Will tossing more of his patients' records into the flames, his back turned to him. The younger man was limned with firelight, and Hannibal knew that were he to step closer, Will would angle his body towards him, a sunflower seeking the sun.

No wonder Will asked him about his memory palace. Will was going to take away his freedom, lock him away either in a maximum security prison or in the dark recesses of the BSHCI's cells. And Hannibal told him he would live in it, were he apprehended.

He felt like a fool.

For so sweet a time he had _believed_. It had ever only been a dream, to be seen and accepted, and against his instincts Hannibal had allowed himself to fall into the dream.

Will Graham was truly a remarkable man.

"Hannibal?" Will turned partly away from the fireplace. "What about the rest of the books? I'm sure you have some volumes you wish to keep."

"I have read them and enjoyed them in their time," said Hannibal. Nothing in his voice betrayed the tumult of emotions within. "My drawings, on the other hand... I am loath to leave them. They will be displayed crudely and without the regard they deserve."

As the older man expected, Will Graham left the flickering flames and came to flick through the many sketches that Hannibal's pencils had crafted. "You could take them along," he said.

 _You. Not 'we'._  Using the pretext of neatening the pages, the doctor stepped closer, intending to end this. He could do it, he should do it, and he would have more time to make his escape. He could even leave behind Abigail, currently secure in his guest room, leave her behind to deal with all the probing questions and accusations.

Will shifted so he was facing Hannibal. "You should have been an artist instead of a psychiatrist."

Hannibal felt his lips curve in an approximation of a smile. "Imagine the roads not taken."

He placed a hand on Will's chest, thumb and middle finger on Will's clavicles which he could feel beneath the sage green shirt. The heat of the man radiated into Hannibal's palm, and he slid his hand up slightly.

Will blinked. His lips parted, as though he was going to speak, but he stayed silent. His storm-blue eyes met Hannibal's hesitantly, and his cheeks pinked. Hannibal saw Will's pupils dilate. As if reading Hannibal's intention, Will glanced away to the right, his long lashes fluttering.

"Will," he murmured, and slid his hand to the back of the other man's neck. His elegant fingers threaded into dark chocolate curls and tugged gently to tilt Will's face up. "Tell me to stop."

Will licked his lower lip and said nothing. 

Hannibal pulled Will closer, pressed him against himself, and then kissed him for the first time, the way Hannibal had been longing to ever since Will came to his home with Randall Tier's body.

The younger man's hands reached up around Hannibal to grasp at his broad shoulders. His lips parted more, a soft throaty moan inviting Hannibal to drink more deeply of him. His teeth scraped over Will's lower lip, and he sucked the plump softness into his mouth tenderly. Then his tongue slid into Will's mouth and he _tasted._  The psychiatrist carefully steered Will backwards until they met the edge of the desk.

"Hannibal," Will whispered, his mouth reddened "the drawings, the books."

Hannibal reached behind Will and swept everything to the floor in a wild clatter. "Now it's clear."

Will smiled and blushed. His fingers clenched briefly on Hannibal's waistcoat before he skated his hands around to rest on the older man's trim waist. The vein in his neck jumped convulsively; Hannibal wanted to _bite_ it, feel the life throbbing between his teeth. The younger man let his fingers drift from Hannibal's waist to the top button of Hannibal's waistcoat. 

"Why?" he asked, peering shyly at the doctor.

Hannibal bent close to breathe in Will's scent from his neck. At least the profiler had stopped using that atrocious aftershave. "I simply wish to have happier memories for my palace," he answered.

"You mean-" Will swallowed and averted his gaze.

"Tell me to stop," Hannibal mouthed against Will's left ear. The hand that was originally intended to strangle Will returned to his shirt, and started undoing buttons. He could hear Will swallow again, and the younger man visibly shivered when Hannibal trailed a fingertip along the line of his sternum down to his belly, as though slicing an invisible line, but Will never said anything until his shirt was completely undone and tossed to join the disarray of papers on the floor.

Will pulled back, his lips brushing Hannibal's jaw. "I've never... Not with a man."

"You will allow me this," said Hannibal, half-statement, half-question. 

In reply, Will began to fiddle with Hannibal's waistcoat and quickly divested the older man of the garment, and then after a glance at Hannibal, pulled away the tie. When it came to the shirt, however, Will was uncharacteristically clumsy.

Hannibal placed his hand over Will's, stilling the profiler, and then gently but firmly pushed Will to lie back onto the wide desk. The firelight bronzed the younger man's pale skin. Hannibal paused, enjoying the sight, greedily devouring every detail - from the sparse hair trailing from his neat belly button to the dark, pert nipples; from the puckered bullet scar and the reminder of a stab wound, to the delicate pink flush spreading from Will's cheeks down his smooth chest. Will was breathing more heavily, the pulse in his neck fluttering almost too rapidly.

"Hannibal?"

"Such perfection should not exist," said Hannibal, his voice low and reverent. Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he removed his shirt, and let it fall to join Will's on the floor. Then he shifted Will's legs to stand between his knees. "You should not exist."

"I'm not perfect," Will said.

"You are," retorted the doctor fiercely. He placed his hands on either side of Will's ribs, and lowered his mouth to where Will's heart beat within its bone cage. "You are perfect to me. For me."

Something in Hannibal's words made Will reach forward to cradle the older man's head, his calloused fingers and palm scraping over stubble. Will's voice shook as he said, "I need you to kiss me." Then, as an afterthought, he said, "Please kiss me."

Hannibal gladly obliged, his left hand again pressed to Will's chest and sliding up to his vulnerable throat. He tightened his hold, just as a test, and Will stirred restively. The psychiatrist pushed Will down and crowded in, his hold firm but not tight. For the third time, Hannibal said, "Tell me to stop, Will."

Will shook his head. He shut his eyes, and his legs wound around Hannibal's hips. "It's... it's good."

 _You and I know that I can kill you like this_ , Hannibal thought, and his hand leaves Will's throat to cup his stubbled cheek. The kiss was forceful, nearly violent, and Hannibal's sharp teeth cuts Will's lower lip. The coppery tang of blood sparked something primal in both of them. Will threw both arms around Hannibal's neck, hugging him close, his breath hot and urgent on the doctor's cheek. Hannibal savored the taste of the younger man, tucking the sense memory of it away in the antler room he had reserved for Will Graham; it was likely the doctor would not have this opportunity again.

He unlatched Will's arms from around his neck and pinned them to his sides, his mouth skating from kiss-plumped lips to nibble experimentally at fleshy earlobes, his tongue darting in to play with the swirls of Will's ear. Every change in texture, every sound he elicited from Will was cataloged; Hannibal kept his hands over Will's wrists, feeling his pulse race. Hannibal nipped at Will's neck, and again fought the impulse to sink his teeth in and tear out the jugular. From the convulsive manner Will's throat moved, it was evident the nature of Hannibal's thoughts had been picked up.

Now the doctor skimmed his lips over bare shoulders, trailing over the sharp jut of collarbones. He followed the dip and then skimmed down, sucked on dusky nipples. The startled moan that rippled from Will was very gratifying when Hannibal tested his teeth against the peaked buds; he could feel Will straining to not struggle free, and was absurdly proud that the younger man stilled when the doctor tightened his grip.

Will's chest rumbled with soft laughter. "Why did we wait till today?"

Hannibal licked from Will's sternum down to his belly button before he lifted his head. He allowed amusement to veil his features, and thought of Bedelia. "I didn't think I'd need this memory till today."

There was something that resembled sadness in Will's eyes when he met Hannibal's steady gaze. "It will be a good memory?"

"I intend for it to be, yes," said Hannibal. He released Will's wrists and brushed his knuckles over Will's jaw. It would be so easy to reach out and snap his neck. Quick, nearly painless. He would be have left the country before Jack Crawford even knew Will was dead. "Take off your pants."

Sitting up, Will smiled as he complied. "You're bossier than I thought you'd be." Then he grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed. "I-I haven't... Not that I've thought about this."

The older man smiled and nosed Will under his ear. The trace of Freddie Lounds invaded his sense of smell, rude and unwanted like the originator, and Hannibal found himself filled with an unusually wounded rage. He wanted to erase her from Will, erase her from the face of the earth. However, she was likely to be under the watchful eye of the FBI at the moment.

No matter.

Will had wiggled partly out of his pants, leaving them around his ankles. His arousal was obvious, a damp spot already seeping into his boxer briefs. Will's face, ears, and even the back of his neck were a charming shade of pink as he pushed them off, hesitantly at first and then in a hurry, like it was an ordeal he wanted to be over.

He was beautiful.

Hannibal freed Will from his shoes and socks, and tugged the remainder of Will's clothes from him. Now he was naked as the day he was born. Goosebumps erupted over Will's thighs and he rubbed at them.

He saw Hannibal looking and muttered, "Don't stare at me."

"Why not?" Hannibal undid his belt, and saw the way Will tracked his movements. "You are worth my attention, always."

"Why do you... what do you want of me?"

"I want you," he said simply. "Tell me, Will, what you want of me."

Will's gaze darted up to meet Hannibal's burgundy eyes, and then skittered to the side. "It's nothing."

"Tell me," Hannibal repeated, turning the younger man to look at him, "what you want of me."

"I... I don't- I can't."

"You reacted beautifully when I put my hand here," Hannibal said, demonstrating - Will's eyes fluttered shut at the touch - and the doctor added, "and you didn't pull away when I held your wrists. How did you feel?"

Will licked his lip, the tip of his tongue lingering on the cut in his lower lip. He inhaled deeply, before he muttered, "Grounded. Present."

"Do you trust me?"

The question caught Will off-guard. He stared at Hannibal, his mouth partially open, and then he nodded sharply. "You won't hurt me. Not unless you have to."

Hannibal's thumb brushed over Will's lower lip and pressed briefly on the cut. "I will bind your hands."

He looped the belt around Will's wrists and partially down his forearms, and then pushed Will to lie on the polished surface of his desk. Of his own accord, Will raised his arms over his head, stretching out his torso for Hannibal's admiration. The table had been something Hannibal picked out himself from an antique store, mainly for the sheen of its wood and the angles and curves that were so harmonious and pleasing to the eye. And now, Will Graham was _very_ pleasing to the eye, restrained and vulnerable. Hannibal unbuttoned his trousers and lowered the zip - the sound made Will twitch - before he freed his erection.

The feel of his hairy chest over Will's smooth skin was something he would never be able to recreate. Hannibal let his hands skim over Will's sides, noting how the younger man squirmed, and smiled as he lowered his mouth to Will's nipples again, sucking and nipping teasingly at them. He knew Will was riding the emotional turmoil of arousal, guilt, and terror; the scent was pouring off him, drowning out Freddie Lounds' unwelcome presence.

Moving back to Will's neck, Hannibal sucked dark pink bruises into fair skin, forming a collar that was at once gauche and yet satisfying to the monster within Hannibal. Their erect cocks brushed together and Will keened, his breathing harsh and rapid.

"I won't penetrate you," said Hannibal, though he wanted to. He wanted to claim his own, be it with his clever fingers or sensitive tongue or his cock. He wanted also to stick a knife in Will's gut, have his guts spill out in exchange for the secret he kept. He wanted Will to leave with him for Florence. He wanted Will to die.

Instead, he licked a broad stripe along his palm, and did it again and again, and then reached down between them to grasp Will's erection. The younger man moaned outright, his back arching into Hannibal; it was clear it had been some time since he received such attention. Margot wouldn't have cared to bring Will pleasure, she would have only wanted what he could give her. In many ways she was like her brother, all take and no give.

Hannibal stroked Will steadily, root to tip, his thumb rubbing over the leaking slit frequently. The smell of sex permeated the air, combined with the smell of the burning logs in the fireplace; Hannibal thought he might never be able to endure a fireplace again, the smell of burning firewood would forever conjure this moment: Will whimpering as he surrendered to Hannibal's touches, the muscles cording along Will's underarms, the sweat beginning to bead over pale skin decorated with blooms sucked into it.

His own need rising, Hannibal pressed his mouth over the center of Will's chest, his hand circling his cock and Will's as much as he could. The sensation of hot, velvety skin rubbing together made his toes curl. He growled softly on every exhalation; heat pooled and coiled low in his gut; every thrust grew more forceful. His free hand pinched Will's nipple hard, and then scratched down the other man's torso hard, leaving red weals, before it joined his other hand.

Hannibal straightened slightly to watch. It was a debauched sight: Will was thrusting into the tight grip, his hips undulating like he was dancing, his arms still loyally raised over his head. His mouth had fallen open and he panted, his eyes not fully closed but still unseeing. Hannibal wished it could last forever.

"Hannibal, Hannibal I'm close-" the younger man gasped.

The psychiatrist deliberately swiped his thumb over the leaking tip and Will cried out. Sticky white ejaculate shot out, thick spurts over Will's belly and some landing on his chest. Hannibal bent down to lick up the drops. The taste was exquisite. He bottled them in his mind, jealous and afraid that he would lose the subtle nuances of flavor.  He grabbed hold of one of Will's legs and draped it about his waist, before thrusting against the younger man, his rhythm speeding up now to chase his pleasure. Will whimpered but his leg curled more tightly, pulling Hannibal as close as possible to himself. Hannibal's other hand clasped the back of Will's neck, his fingers digging into flesh.

He came silently, lips pressed against Will's shoulder, and for that moment he forgot his heartache. He let himself drift. Thought about nothing but the moment, hearing Will's heartbeat pound beneath him, like the waves of a far-off surf crashing onto a beach. In this moment he believed in his dream. Will and him having night after night of this, and perhaps more. Perhaps much more.

Eventually, however, reality asserted itself, and Hannibal remembered what drove him to create this memory.

He pulled away and smiled vaguely as he released Will's hands. "Thank you."

"Um... you're welcome?" Will tried. He huffed in amusement. "No. Sorry, I just... I didn't know you thought of me that way."

"I have  thought of you in all possible ways, dear Will," said Hannibal, fishing out wet tissues in his drawer to clean them up.

Will allowed a moment's silence as they were put back in some semblance of decency. He remained naked, though, and it was remarkable how natural it felt to Hannibal to have a nude Will Graham on his desk. As if he belonged there, like the pencils and papers and scalpel.

"Even as a dish?" Will asked once Hannibal had disposed of the tissues.

"Yes."

"What... Which part of me..." Will chewed contemplatively on his lower lip, finding it difficult to express his thought.

Striding over, Hannibal drew Will off the desk and into an embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to soft lips, knowing that they trembled with the contact. He tasted Will again, his tongue swiping over the cut, and buried his nose in dark curls. The stench of that tabloid reporter had been drowned out. Hannibal shut his eyes and let himself dream.

"My dear Will," he said, his voice no more than a breath, "I would eat your heart."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot, just something that had been plaguing me.  
> headcanon that after this bit of office shenanigans, Will and Hannibal go feed the dogs and then run off with Abigail and set up home in Florence.


End file.
